


more than just a shot in the dark

by reapers



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: M/M, Pining, Pre-Fall of Overwatch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-25
Updated: 2016-09-25
Packaged: 2018-08-17 03:47:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8129263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reapers/pseuds/reapers
Summary: Genji is on an away mission; Jesse suffers from a severe wake-up call.





	

**Author's Note:**

> working title for this was 'no homo: the fic'
> 
> Translation in 中文 available [here](http://www.weibo.com/1980138767/EdZZ44BJX?ref=home&rid=1_0_8_2666910730756753677&type=comment#_rnd1477113809338)

 

* * *

 

 **zero**.

 

“Commander Morrison said it will take several weeks.” Genji tucks his uniform into his bag carefully, folding it neatly. “A few months, at worst.”

Jesse exhales a puff of smoke and watches it curl into the air. (Benefits of a roommate without a sense of smell: doesn’t care about smoking --usually. Genji has his limits.)

“Try not to miss me too much then, darlin’,” McCree tries, teasingly, fiddling with the brim of his hat.

“I believe I will be too occupied for that.” Genji pulls at the drawstring until the bag closes over pointedly and turns to face McCree, hands on his hips. “Perhaps it is _you_ who should try not to miss _me_.”

Jesse laughs. A couple of weeks sans his roommate and his annoyingly early-bird-esque habits? Jesse is going to have the time of his life, no cleaning up after himself, no waking up unintentionally, not to mention not needing to wait for a shower to--

“I’ll try my best, sweetheart,” he says, croons, almost, and blows smoke Genji’s way in three, neat little rings, who only bats it away in return, before it can get clogged in his vents. “Now go kick some bad guy ass.”

Genji huffs in that particular way that means he’s smiling --albeit reluctantly-- beneath the face-plate, and offers Jesse a small wave as the doors slide open. “See you later, Jesse.”

Jesse tips his hat. “‘Til next time, partner.”

 

 

 

 

 

 **one**.

 

As predicted, Jesse is having the time of his life.

Genji, all nuances aside, _is_ a good roommate --one of the better ones, Jesse would argue, especially after what happened between him and his last roommate-- but that still doesn’t quite beat the privacy of an empty room. Jesse can smoke as much as he wants without Reyes reprimanding him or Genji complaining about it getting in his vents, he can be as messy as he likes without judgmental looks from an otherwise impassive face, and even better than that he can watch _Doc Tombstone_ as loudly as he wants and as many times as he wants without a single damn word otherwise.

Jesse doesn’t know how he’s supposed to go back to having a roommate; and it’s only the first damn day.

“Where’s your other-half?” Fareeha jeers as she slides into the seat opposite Jesse, earbuds dangling from the collar of her shirt. For all that she is mature, compassionate, and self-disciplined, she really is still just a teenager --teasing is not beyond her, and, well, Jesse does kind of deserve the jabs.

“On an away mission,” Jesse replies, smiling. It’s the first one Genji’s been on since he and McCree had been assigned to the same quarters and as aforementioned; Jesse is _living_. “Won’t be back for a few weeks.”

“Wow.” Fareeha deadpans, stabbing at the oatmeal on her plate. Jesse doesn’t know why she always hangs out here when she could be at home or going to school or something else equally as normal, but for some reason that Jesse can't quite comprehend, the girl just really, _really_ likes Overwatch. “What are you going to do without him?”

Jesse frowns at that. Sure, he and Genji spend a lot of time together --they’re roommates and friends, after all-- but they’re not like, attached at the hip, or anything. “Now what’s that supposed to mean?” He asks, ruffling her hair.

“Ugh.” Fareeha neatens every single out-of-place fly-away, batting Jesse’s hands away. “It _means_  that you’re an oblivious buffoon who’s perpetually stuck in the 1870’s and still thinks spurs are cool.”

“Hey now,” Jesse holds out his hands placatingly. “‘S all about differin’ opinions --”

Fareeha groans again and Jesse laughs, even as she tries to swat his hands away from her head for the second time.

 

 

 

 

 

 **three**.

 

Jesse isn't restless.

“I ain't restless.” He says aloud, because for all that Gabe is really uncannily good at reading Jesse, he probably can't actually read minds. Probably.

“Right.” Gabe deadpans, totally disbelieving. “Your aim is too left.”

Jesse grunts and adjusts peacekeeper a little to the right. Sure, he hasn't been on a mission in months --ever since getting shot back in Botswana and being on the recovery-- and maybe he doesn't have any cyborg-ninjas to bother with keeping him company --but he's not restless.

Jesse unloads the whole clip in a split second and the recoil hurts his wrist.

“If you want something to do,” Gabe says, and the bastard is fucking smirking _. “_ You could actually help out with paperwork, for once.”

“In your dreams, old man.” Jesse resists the urge to stick out his tongue because he is a grown man in his twenties and he has standards _._

Gabe sighs, “I never dream so long as you're bothering me,” laughing at Jesse’s indignant noises of protests and ruffling his hair like he’s seventeen again and sorely lacking in parental figures. Jesse picks his hat off the floor, grunting, and flattens the ends down, wondering if this is how Fareeha must feel. Regardless, the point still stands; Jesse won't sign an official report for as long as he lives, probably.

Besides, he doesn't want paperwork, he wants a mission _._

“Just go get Mercy’s all-clear,” Gabe orders, no, says suggestively. “Then you could finally get your lazy ass working again.”

Jesse grunts as his next shot lands right in the bullseye.

Fucking mind readers.

 

 

 

 

 

**ten.**

 

Jesse waits at least a week before visiting Ziegler for the all-clear.

(Partly because he’s a stubborn bastard that refuses to listen to Gabe off the battlefield, and partly because he just wants to prove a point.)

Naturally the haphazard passing of days does nothing but increase the itch in his fingers but hey, Jesse has gotten really, _really_ good at hitting the bullseye, and he can watch _Doc Tombstone_ on mute since he knows all the lines now --which is great, because it means he'll be able to watch it even with Genji in the room whenever he’s doing that weird powered-down-but-not-sleeping thing.

Jesse scratches his chin and feels the hairs that can't really pass for stubble anymore beneath his fingertips. Without Genji around to remind him to shave it’s kind of become… moot point.

And that’s.

“Here for a doctor’s note?” Mercy asks, unimpressed, as she crosses her legs and folds her arms. Jesse smiles his most charming smile --Ana always calls it his _what-do-you-want_ smile, but it's all subjective, really.

“Somethin’ like that,” he says, pulling himself to the cot opposite her desk and tugging at the hem of his shirt tantalisingly. Ziegler rolls her eyes, but comes forward all the same, examining the remnants of the sutures she’d pulled just the other week and prodding gently at the skin along the side of his abdomen.

“It seems to have healed up well,” she purses her lips and starts writing something on her holo-pad --Ziegler’s the only doctor McCree knows of who actually has good handwriting. “I think you’ll be fine to return to duty.”

Jesse grins and stands up but Mercy pushes him down. “Sit.” She says, well, orders, and begins pulling out various instruments from a kit beside the cot. “We might as well do a full physical while you're here before you go rushing into trouble again.”

Jesse smiles sheepishly. “Hey now,” he says, scratching his chin. “Ain't my fault there's always trouble ‘round these parts.”

Ziegler purses her lips, huffing. “I suppose you are just… What do you say? Birds of a feather?”

Jesse just keeps smiling. Mercy sighs.

Blood tests run and other basic check-ups accounted for, and Ziegler just sighs one, last breath in finality and completes the medical records left open on her tablet.

“Have you spoken to Genji at all?” She asks, conversationally, still filling out papers, but Jesse’s been here long enough to know that tone. It's the classic Overwatch-branded _I have ulterior motives_ tone --Gabe and Ana do it all the time, especially when they’re trying to get Jesse to do… well, mostly anything.

Jesse frowns. “Why would I?” he mumbles, not to mention how...

“You could always just _call_ ,” Ziegler clicks her tongue disappointedly. ”He's not undercover --contact is allowed.” She glances sideways at Jesse. “Aren't you friends?”

Well. _Duh_. “‘Course.” Jesse says, mirroring Ziegler’s skeptic look. “That ain't mean I gotta check up on him like a milkmaid and her prized heifer.”

Mercy purses her lips. “Right.” She says, like she doesn't believe a single thing he's saying. “But I'm sure he wouldn't mind one call--”

“Didn't realize you were a shrink now too, Doc,” Jesse cuts in, smiling smugly. “Couples' counselin'?”

Ziegler sighs. She mutters something like _I tried_ beneath her breath but Jesse opts to ignore it.

 

 

 

 

 

**fourteen.**

 

God, it's good to be back.

Standard tests and psych-evals aside,  Jesse hadn't even realized he’d missed it to begin with. Not the getting shot at thing --that got old day one-- but just. The action. The fresh air. The sense of self-accomplishment after doing something _good_.

Not the most of altruistic of reasons maybe, but hey, sue him.

With Genji around it had been easier to pass the time --training sessions moved faster when there was someone to spar with and Jesse’s incredible skill of being a _bother_ was better put to use when there was someone _to_ bother-- but without him the room just had just felt a little too empty, a little too quiet. The photos they'd taken together as a team tacked along Genji’s wall had started drilling holes into Jesse’s head, and he'd just needed an excuse to get _out;_ not even the room, necessarily, but the whole _base_ , really.

Besides, there's nothing more distracting than a recon mission.

Jesse drops from the vent to the floor and rolls immediately under a nearby table for cover. So what if he _maybe_ misses Genji a _little_ , they're friends, what _else_ is he supposed to do when he’s gone? A shadow passes underneath the tablecloth and Jesse dives out from hiding, suppressing the security guard with a hand across his mouth.

It just… Doesn't make sense as to why he keeps _seeing_ him. Jesse slides the body to a nearby broom closet and leaves it there. Genji, that is. No matter the time of day it's like Jesse keeps expecting him to walk through their bedroom door, to laugh or brush of Jesse’s flirting or to sigh and just lie down in his bed, staring at the ceiling pensively, a line of anger in his shoulders --Jesse has become _expectant,_  unfamiliar beyond the confines of their routine,and he's not quite sure what to do with that.

All in all, maybe Jesse doesn't miss _Genji_ , maybe he just misses the boxes of necessity that Genji ticks off in his life. Like the one for _someone who actually laughs at his jokes_ and _someone who actually flirts back --_ all important things, to Jesse; he's a little bit deprived of being humoured.

But… Jesse finds the chip Gabe had sent him to find hovering in the middle sunroom like some omniscient deity of worship and _not_ a chip containing all of the whoever's illegal dealings --bad guys and their vanity, sheesh. Jesse _does_  kind of miss the sound of Genji’s reluctant laughter, misses causing it to rise --Genji hates his laugh because Genji hates himself but he’s getting through it, piece by piece, each careful moment of it a memory to tuck away and save for later.

More than anything, though, Jesse just kind of misses not waking up alone.

“Found the treasure, boss,” Jesse says into the earpiece, and Gabe’s quick grunt of approval does _not_ stroke his ego enough.

"Get out of there McCree," Gabe huffs, "Preferably in one piece." 

(Too bad no one would be there to celebrate a job well done when Jesse returns to his room --it’s kind of his and Genji’s thing.)

 

 

 

 

 

 

**twenty-one.**

 

“There's only so many missions I can legally assign you.”

Jesse scowls. “Ain't this Blackwatch?” He demands, shifting in his seat. “Since when’ve y’all cared about _legal--_ ”

Gabe's glare is enough to freeze _fire._ “Enough.” He says firmly, standing. “Most of our agents are out on the Hanamura op and in the meantime, you’re on _standby._ ”

Jesse’s jaw _drops_ . “I _just_ got _off_ standby can’t you just--”

“ _Enough_ , Jesse.” Gabe sighs, rubbing the bridge of his nose and then looks at McCree with a ring of worry in his eyes. Jesse _hates_ it. “I get that you’re restless, but I can’t keep sending you out solo like that, it’s too dangerous.” He folds his arms and determinedly gives Jesse a _look_. “Go bother Ana if you want something to do.”

And defect back to Jack Morrison and his band of tighty-whitey-wearing fun killers? “No thanks.” Jesse tugs his hat down and tries to smother the dejectedness in his gut. It’s not Gabe’s fault, he knows, he’s just doing his job, but Jesse’s been high strung ever since getting _shot --_ the missions had at least given him an output, and the only reason he hadn’t been completely driven up the walls before had been… because of Genji, in hindsight.

Jesse _blanches._ Oh _god_. All the time spent together, all of Genji’s subtle insistences of _spending_ time together… he’d known, hadn’t he? That Jesse would get cabin fever if left long enough, that he needed an output. And then, between being put on standby and Genji going on mission… Jesus _Christ_ , how had Jesse not noticed this? That he… That Genji… That Genji is such a good _friend_ \--

“Jesse,” Gabe says suddenly, softer, cutting through McCree’s thoughts. “You don't need to rush to make things right.”

It’s not what’s going through his head, not right now, but Jesse still _definitely_ chooses to ignore _that._

 

 

 

 

 

 

**twenty-two.**

 

So maybe Jesse does decide to go to Ana --just not for the reasons Gabe had implied.

“You can always babysit Fareeha--”

“She’s seventeen,” Jesse quirks a brow. “Doubt she’s needin’ any babysittin’.”

Ana smiles and hums, making Jesse a mug of tea even though he doesn't drink the stuff --he will, for her, but only because she'll force it down his throat either way.

“Perhaps she can babysit you, then.” Jesse just _frowns_ ; Ana laughs, self-satisfied.

“You could just ask Jack for--” Jesse gives her a _look_ . “--Maybe not.” Ana clicks her tongue after boiling water splashes from the pouring kettle, retracting her fingers. “But help is always needed _somewhere.”_

Jesse slumps forward until his chin hits the cold, steel table top and huffs, the brim of his hat dislodging momentarily. “Very helpful,” he mutters, not the slightest bit _bitter_.

Ana just clicks her tongue again. “You're like a puppy,” she flicks Jesse’s nose, forcing him to sit straight, and he rubs the tender spot dejectedly. “Waiting for his master to come home.” She huffs. “You just miss him.”

Jesse doesn’t need to ask for clarification on the _him_ . “I ain’t _missin_ ’ him,” he insists, because the idea of such a thing is, impossible, preposterous, unthinkable and irrational, even--

“ _Mhmm_ ,” Ana hums  in that way that means she _totally_ doesn’t believe Jesse, and seriously, Genji’s just a friend, just a really fun-to-be-around, caring friend, that McCree never really expected to have in the first place, why would Jesse even--

“Fuck.” He says suddenly, and Ana just _smiles_.

“Language,” she reprimands, but there's no bite to it. “Perhaps you could spend your newfound free time deciding on how to _confess_.”

Jesse gulps. “Confess to what?” He asks innocently --all his illegal crimes are in the books anyway, no thanks to Gabe, so--

“Ignorance is only cute on children, Jesse.” Ana ruffles his hair as she passes and is _this where he gets the habit from_. “Face the truth.”

The tea is bitter and lukewarm when Jesse finally takes a sip, and that’s when McCree realizes he's a little bit fucked.

 

 

 

 

 

**twenty-two.**

 

Jesse, in all his new-found talents and realizations, decides to save that horrible, fleeting thought for an even more horrible day, and files it under _things I would rather die than think about._

Dramatic, but that’s love, he supposes.

(And then, _fuck_ , the point is to _not_ admit that--)

“Shit,” he curses, not watching where he’s going and bumping into a very disgruntled Fareeha, kneeling to help her pick up the papers he’d forced her to scatter in his clumsiness. “Sorry there kiddo, wasn’t paying attention.”

“Evidently.” She mutters, but accepts the papers he holds out in offering. “What are you doing anyway? Wandering the halls like a mindless zombie--”

Jesse scratches the back of his head. “Been put on standby.” He admits, sheepishly. “Ain’t got much else to do, truth be told.”

Fareeha frowns. “If you want something to do, you could help me carry some of these files--” She dumps an appropriately sized stack into his arms, before he can even offer them outwards. “--Winston needed help in the lab.”

“Uh.” Jesse stares down at the manilla folders. “Lead the way?”

McCree knows where Winston’s lab is, naturally --hard to not hear the faint sounds of explosions throughout the day-- but he doesn’t know _what_ he’s doing, just that he’s needing a distraction for both his head and his hands --as well as that he’s inarguably curious-- so he lets Fareeha trail a few steps ahead.

“Thank you Fareeha,” Winston adjusts his glasses when they dump the papers on his desk, not removing his eyes from the screen in front of him. “I’m not sure what I would do without you.”

“No problem.” Fareeha dusts her hands off, and rummages through the cabinets at the back of Winston’s laboratory. “Do you still need me to fix outside?”

Winston smiles weakly. “Please.” And then adjusts his glasses, squinting at Jesse as he notices him. “Hello, McCree.”

“Howdy big fella,” Jesse clears his throat. “What’s happenin’?”

“Ah nothing much, just research, you know how it goes.” Winston waves his feet. Er. Feet-hands? Jesse’s still behind on his gorilla anatomy. “Standby?”

Jesse winces. “Unfortunately.” Winston nods in sympathetic understanding.

“Come on cowboy,” Fareeha shoves a bucket into his hand and pushes him up the stairs. “Be useful for once.”

“Huh,” Jesse says, when Fareeha leads him outside of the lab to discover a half-painted wall, splatters of orange covering granite grey steel right outside Winston’s window. “Don't they usually hire someone for this stuff?”

Fareeha rolls up her sleeves and huffs. “Winston doesn’t want to bother people.” She pours the paint into separate containers and drags a brush through it, back and forth. “And it’s not like we’re doing anything else," she mutters. "We might as well help as much as we can.”

Jesse stares, for perhaps a beat too long, and decides that Fareeha is probably going to go very, very far in life. He hates that his chest feels so warm at the thought.

It's surprisingly  soothing in the scheme of things. The fresh air, even when mixed with the heavy scent of paint, does wonders to clear Jesse's mind, and the repetition of the roller going back and forth is oddly meditative. Besides, lost in his thoughts, Jesse is given freedom to think about what he wants.

Or, well, _who_.

Genji _is_ a friend, Jesse tells himself, just a friend with a really cute laugh and self-esteem issues and jokes as lame as Jesse’s belt buckle. A friend who apparently knows Jesse better than he'd originally thought and a friend who… He misses, oddly enough.

(But it’s not attachment, it can't be, because attachment means… something that he doesn’t have the right to have. Jesse is a lot of things --a son, a friend, a royal-pain-in-the-ass-- but more than anything he’s a _soldier_ , and attachments means something that will hurt when you lose it, something that will _be_ hurt when they lose _you_ \--)

“Hey,” Fareeha waves her hand back-and-forth. “Earth to Jesse, you’ve been painting that spot for the past five minutes.”

Jesse blinks and fumbles, adjusting his hat. “Uh. Sorry. Lost in thought.” He smiles weakly.

“Really?” Fareeha asks, tone monotonous but edging on inquisitive as she watches him from the corner of her eye. “Because you’re bright red.”

Jesse clears his throat. “Must be the heat--”

“It’s sixteen degrees.”

“I come from a cold climate--”

“Aren’t you from New Mexico?” Fareeha plants both hands on her hips and cocks it to one side, frowning. “Is this about Genji?”

Jesse _chokes. “_ Who?” He says, in all his quick thinking.

“Your _roommate_ ?” Fareeha quirks a brow, and Jesse can _feel_ the judgement. “Did a paint bucket fall on your head?”

“Don’t I wish,” Jesse mutters, and Fareeha flicks paint at him. “Hey now!”

The girl just laughs, high-pitched and sweet, the sort of laughter that comes with a youthfulness one loses in this line of work. Jesse had been her age when he’d first joined Blackwatch, come to think of it, and that thought within itself, to think of Fareeha, like he had been, blood-covered and desperate, is--

Fareeha flicks paint at him again, splattering his shirt in more dollops of orange. “Can you focus?”

Jesse raises his eyebrows. “Says the kid tryna start a fight.”

Fareeha smirks, even while her roller moves up and down the wall steadily. “Got your attention, didn’t I?”

Jesse flicks his paint brush at her.

Fareeha screams a little bit, uncharacteristically so, and Jesse is torn between regret and absolute _hilarity_ as he watches the orange drip down off the hook of her nose. She gathers herself up, suddenly then, and picks up her own brush determinedly, shaking it at him repeatedly.

They end up getting more paint on each other than they ever did on the wall, and by the end of it Jesse has to raise his hands in surrender while Fareeha looms above him, cornered to the ground, an entire paint bucket hoisted over her shoulder.

“You win--” he wheezes, between breaths of laughter and pure _fear_. “You win.”

Fareeha dusts off her hands, satisfied, and sits beside him, wiping her paint covered hands on Jesse’s shirt until he shoves her off, laughing.

“You’re a mess,” Fareeha sighs, and Jesse raises his eyebrows to say _and you’re not?_ “Not like _that_ ,” she says, flicking his forehead and presumably leaving a orange splotch in the centre of it. “But in there.”

Jesse sighs, and splays his legs out haphazardly as she folds herself neat and cross-legged beside him. “There's just a lot goin’ on right now...” He mutters. Gabe’s late nights and Jesse’s standby and Genji’s mission and the way Morrison won't make eye contact with him in the hallway, like something is _wrong_. “... And I ain't quite sure how to deal with it all.”

And then there's the most recent discovery… The thing he refuses to _acknowledge,_ let alone _deal_ with.

Fareeha looks at him. “Genji, right?” She smiles knowingly, and Jesse sighs. It’s not problem number one, not necessarily, but there are things a child should know and things they shouldn’t.

“My poker face must be gettin’ bad if it’s that obvious…” He jokes, hoping she won't see through it as he throws himself under the bus to not let her dig further, taking off his hat and leaning backwards onto his hands, staring at the sky. “But yeah, I-- I think I miss the guy.” He smiles sheepishly.

“Oh.” Fareeha’s mouth twists disappointingly. “You just… Miss him? That's all you feel… Towards him?”

Jesse stares. “Uh. Yeah?” He blinks. “I just ain’t used to bein’ the uh. Sentimental type.” Damn twerp looking for some kind of--

Fareeha mumbles, “Boring.” but continues on before Jesse can chase _that_ up. “God only knows how you two are friends, he doesn’t even _seem_ approachable.”

Kind of rich coming from an _Amari_ , but Jesse values his self-preservation.

“Truth be told, I thought that of him at first, too.” McCree smiles fondly at the memory. “I used to rile him up ‘cause it was so fun, but he eventually just sorta… unwound.” Jesse’s comments no-longer hanging in the air unaccompanied, Genji’s posture less… artificial, more human. Gabe’s voice as he shoved a box at Jesse and said _I’m relocating you to Overwatch quarters._ Genji’s laugh the first time he’d _let_ himself laugh, after Jesse had asked if he wanted to watch _The Good, The Bad, And The Ugly_ and he’d said, between giggles, _so you truly are a cowboy._  

(Genji has always been more himself when he laughed than any other time, and the first time... that had been when Jesse had realized that they were going to be friends for a very  _long_ time.)

(Or, some very quiet, very _repressed_ part of Jesse argues, maybe not _just_ friends.)

“How long has it been since you last spoke to him?” Fareeha softly asks, cutting Jesse’s train of thought into pieces that he is so _not_ going to reassemble.

“Couple'a weeks,” Jesse answers honestly,scratching his stubble-covered cheek sheepishly. Three weeks and a day, precisely, but who's counting? “Pathetic, ain't it?”

Fareeha just hums, tilting her head towards the sun. “I just think you have a lot to think about and you’re procrastinating thinking about it.” She stands and offers him a hand out. Jesse is surprised by the maturity in her voice, but realizes he probably shouldn't be. “We should finish the wall, for Winston,” she adds, hoisting him up with a newfound strength Jesse should have noticed her developing, and dusts off her hands. “But I don’t think we’ll be able to.”

Jesse tilts his head. “Why not?”

“Because we’re out of paint.” Fareeha states simply.

“What--” Jesse asks, but is too late before Fareeha picks up the bucket by her feet and dumps the entire can over his head, the straight line of her mouth curving into an unruly grin. She ruined his _hat_. “You fuckin'  _brat_.” He mutters, unable to help his own grin even as he _tastes_ paint, _ugh_ , and can’t help but laugh as he chases her across the grass with orange-covered hands, relishing in her screams of pure, unadulterated _fear_.

 

 

 

 

 

**twenty-three.**

 

Jesse never has been one for thinking.

Everything about him has been instinct instinct _instinct_ from the day he woke up alone on a dirt road and decided he needed to _survive._ That was always first, wasn't it? When it came to the infamous Jesse McCree. Survival is coded into his _blood_ like geese who fly south for winter, like a caterpillar in the safety its cocoon, like turtles returning to the sea _._

Steal to survive, kill to survive, join Deadlock to survive --join _Blackwatch_ to survive.

And that's where _feelings_ and _instinct_ both cross paths and run, perpendicular to one another. Feelings, emotion, _attachment_ , all of that requires thought to process, thought to filter through, thought to decide who comes first: yourself, or those important to you.

It had been hard to deal with, at first, looking at Gabe and thinking, _I’d die for you,_ it went against every belief Jesse had ever had since he could _remember_ , and that within itself had been too much to deal with, alongside the startling spontaneity of the realisation. It hadn't helped that it had grown, too, Ana, Fareeha, Angela, Winston, Lena, hell, even _Jack_ , Jesse had had to start looking at their faces and think, _I'm doing this for you._

It had begun to make things easier, almost, made putting a gun between a man’s eyes more meaningful, less… haphazard. Jesse had joined them to survive, at first, but he’d stayed to _protect_.

And that's why this… Current predicament, baffles him so. Jesse would take a bullet for _any_ of his teammates, Genji is certainly no exception, so why does he think _I’d do anything for you_ instead?

Jesse sits up in his bed, huffing in annoyance. The clock on his nightstand reads _two a.m,_ and he rolls out from beneath the sheets just to stop his body from feeling so… fermented, in its inability to sleep.

The cafeteria is unsurprisingly empty when Jesse shuffles in, heading to the coffee machine. The Gibraltar base is usually overflowing with agents, but between the Blackwatch op and Overwatch’s... predicaments, it had been kind of sparse, lately.

“Bad dream?” Ana asks from the doorway, looking far more awake than Jesse feels. He wonders why she and Gabe aren't out on the field with everyone else, and fleetingly ponders if it has to with what the newspapers have been saying, lately.

“Ha- _ha_ ,” he laughs drily as Ana just takes the coffee-filled mug from his hands and tips it down the sink. “Hey!”

“You need _sleep_ , Jesse,” Ana scolds, pouring boiling water into the mug and then slipping an infuser into it, smelling sweet and spiced in ways Jesse isn't used to. “Drink.” She orders, and sighing, McCree obeys. It tastes as fragrant as it smells, and he sticks his tongue out distastefully.

“Pah, you wouldn't know refinement if it shot you.” Ana clicks her tongue in disdain, Jesse just rubs at the bullet wound in his chest absentmindedly. Ana must be feeling merciful, though, because she takes the mug from his hands, wiping at the rim, and begins sipping from it herself. “What bothers you?” She asks, leaning against the counter.

“Uh.” Jesse scratches his chin. “Dunno, maybe I just ain't gettin’ enough exercise on standby.” Ana hits him across the back of his head, causing his hat to flutter to the ground. “Hey!”

“It is far too early for your avoidant ways,” she says coolly, fingers curled around the plain, white mug. “And I am in no mood for jokes.”

“Are you _ever--_ ” Jesse starts but cuts off once Ana _glares. “_ Okay, okay, I get it.” He picks his hat off the floor and straightens out the brim, paint still splattered around the rim despite his best efforts to clean it all off. “I just can't sleep. That's all.”

“Nightmares?” She asks, but Jesse knows the difference between that and _bad dreams_.

“Nah just…” He trails off. “Are Morrison and Gabe havin’ a fight?”

“They are… stressed,” she says carefully, too weary to reveal the whole scene but willing enough to give Jesse the fragmented pieces. “And it is affecting our operatives, but they will work through it, in time, they always do.” She takes a sip, but avoids Jesse’s eyes. It’s at least marginally reassuring --Ana or not, she’s still his second-in-command.

Well, kind of.

It’s complicated.

“And the Hanamura op…” Jesse begins, trailing off. He’d attended the original meets before he’d gone and gotten shot and contained to medical-standby --then Gabe’s shitty-standby. Yakuza have been rooted deep in Hanamura’s centre for generations, and Overwatch has been trying to pick them out since they’d _become_ Overwatch. They’d decided on launching a Blackwatch squadron of stealth units to infiltrate undercover for a few days, garner as much intel as possible before the boss fight, so to speak, and Genji, naturally, is at the centre of it all… monitoring each and every agent and navigating them through the dragon’s den. Jesse just hopes he’s… coping with it, well enough.

“It’s a success, as far as I know. No agents have been caught or injured...” Ana stares at Jesse, and there’s no smoke and mirrors in it, no hidden intentions, not this time, just pure, clear, upright _worry_. “Jesse, whatever it is that's bothering you, please,” she steps forward, placing the mug on the counter and searching his face. “Don’t be like us old soldiers. Keeping secrets doesn’t get you very far.” She smiles, but it’s out of place around the edges, and Jesse swallows.

“I think I uh.” He clears his throat. “I think I--” God what is he? A fucking _teenager_ ? What is he _supposed_ to say in this situation. _I like him, no like,_ like _-like, not--_ “I think I’m harborin’ some uh. Not-so-platonic feelings for Genji.”

Ana stares at him. “Well obviously.” Jesse _chokes_. “What? Did you think you were subtle? You’ve been moping around for the past three weeks because you haven’t seen him--”

“ _What_ \--”

“--And is this truly what keeps you awake at night? That the big, bad Jesse McCree actually has a _crush_ \--”

“It ain’t _that_ ,” Jesse interrupts, just to get her to _spare him._ He scratches his chin. “It’s just that we’re uh. Soldiers. I could get shot again and this time maybe they ain’t gonna miss and--”

“ _Jesse_ ,” Ana stares at him, unrelenting, even as each little worry slips through his mouth. Because that's what truly bothers him, isn't it? Not that he likes Genji, that, in hindsight, had been inevitable, but the fact that he doesn't have the _right_ to. He can't just give Genji something... like that, only to have it taken away because Jesse can be a little too reckless, a little too self-sacrificing. 

“We must burden this risk with every step we take.” Ana sighs, and begins running her fingers through her hair, braiding it along her back. “Is it truly easier to live with regrets rather than face the possibility of happiness?”

Jesse shakes his head. “I--”

“Do you think, that I look at Fareeha, and only see regret?” Ana folds her arms across her chest and looks unspeakably old in that moment, wrinkles around the corner of her Horus-marked eye. “Do you think I should have never risked it, in the chance that she may suffer once, even though I have witnessed her experience many more great and beautiful things?” Jesse shifts from foot-to-foot, uncomfortable beneath Ana’s scrutiny, and out-of-place with his lack of an answer.

“Do not live with the possibility of burden, Jesse,” Ana sighs, and smiles. “But embrace any chance of happiness that you may find. It is rather fleeting, in this line of work, I find," she places the mug down, gently, and her smile becomes soft in ways that Jesse doesn't quite understand. "But it is worth it, each and every time.” She places a hand on his shoulder, and squeezes. “All good risks come with rewards. Good night, Jesse.”

McCree can't get words to form, tongue too thick with the threads of possibility Ana had weaved into the air. “‘Night,” he manages, eventually, but she's already left the room, mug left empty by the edge of the kitchen sink, white porcelain against steel grey.

 

 

 

 

 

**twenty-four**

 

“You’re not hurt again, are you?” Mercy asks, running her eyes up and down Jesse’s body worryingly, looking for sign of injury as he just stands outside the threshold, stock-still.

“Uh. ‘Fraid not.” He steps through and the doors slide shut automatically behind him, sealing his horrible, inevitable _doom_. He'd decided to do this though, risk or not, he's going to _at least--_  “I need a favour from ya’, doc--”

Ziegler perks up. “Have you finally realised your feelings for Genji?”

“What?” Jesse blinks. “How damn obvious am I?”

“Oh please,” Mercy waves her hand. “You lost at poker to Fareeha when she was fourteen, you are not as unreadable as you believe yourself to be, Jesse McCree.”

That, or he’s surrounded by mind readers.

A problem for another day, he supposes.

“I-- I didn’t come here for counseling, doc,” Jesse adjusts his hat sheepishly, switching back to the task at hand. “I needed to ask… the other day, you said there’s a way of contactin’ Genji?”

“Oh,” Ziegler’s mouth forms a neat ‘o’. “Of course. There’s an untraceable number given to him for personal emergencies. He’s meant to use it for any mechanical problems, but--” she rummages through the files under her desk, and the exhaustion leaks off of her in waves. Jesse wonders if he’s truly the only one, who believes himself to be more unreadable than he actually is.

“Here.” Mercy transfer a number from stock white-card to torn note paper, scribbling it down hastily. “Call this. Preferably early in the morning, and it should not distract him from his duties.”

Jesse takes it gingerly, afraid that it might turn to ash in his hands, and tips his hat. “Thank ya' kindly, doc’.” He smiles. “Promise I’ll only use it for good.”

“I am sure of it,” Mercy’s smile is tired, hesitant, but it’s sly and teasing around the edges. “His heart is not mechanical, Jesse --I will not be fixing it if it breaks.”

“Ha- _ha_ ,” Jesse laughs drily, wondering how long Ziegler's been waiting to use _that_ one, pulling at his collar self-consciously. “I’ll try my best.”

“Some of that southern charm, perhaps?” That’s just _harsh_. “Now shoo, Jesse” she flicks her hands at him. “I have work to do, and you have cyborgs to court.”

“Court?” Jesse repeats, but Ziegler’s got both of her hands on his shoulders, pushing him out the door. “What year is it? 1850-” The door slams shut.

Jesse laughs, staring at the piece of paper in his hands like it holds all the answers. His chest feels indescribably light in its new-found hopefulness, freed from old burdens, and Jesse thinks that maybe, just maybe, things could work out

 

 

 

 

 

**twenty-five**

 

The sun hasn’t even risen yet.

“Doctor Ziegler?” Genji sounds sleepy on the other end, extra tinny and cybernetic between the phone and his artificial voice box, but human all the same. “Is something wrong?”

Jesse’s throat feels too tight for words, and he licks his lips, trying to clear it out in silence.

“Nothing’s wrong partner,” he starts, leaning against the balcony and staring up at the dawn-lined sky. 

“Jesse? Did Doctor Ziegler--” he cuts off, and there’s the distant sound of footsteps and a door sliding shut as the wind ruffles the microphone on the other end, laughter fading in the background.

 “Doc gave me your number," Jesse explains. "I was just… makin’ sure you ain’t missin’ me too much.” He smiles.

“I--” Genji stops. “I admittedly do.” He confesses, sheepish, maybe, but filled with something almost… _fond_. “Sparring with the agents here is not quite the same, and I am confined to the headquarters most of the time.” Genji’s voice drops to a whisper, “Truth be told, I think I have caught cabin-fever.”

Jesse laughs, and he can picture the way Genji’s smiling, hidden beneath his visor thousands of miles away. “Tell me ‘bout it partner,” he turns the phone over to the other ear. “Finally got doc’s all-clear, then Gabe went and put me on standby.”

Genji laughs, and it’s like hearing _music_. “I am surprised you have not run away in protest.”

Jesse mumbles, “I sure as hell thought about it.” And Genji laughs again. Jesse can’t stop the grin that spreads across his face, and it bleeds into his voice as he says, “So do you reckon y’all’re nearly done yet? ‘Cause I’ve heard there’s some loser mopin’ ‘round these parts 'bout missin’ his roommate.”

“Oh?” Genji asks, voice slipped into his playful timbre that unknowingly sends chills down Jesse’s smile. He can almost picture the cyborg, on the other end, leaning against the wall and watching the sun set across Hanamura skies, just as it begins to rise for Gibraltar. “Was this the same ‘loser’ that declared otherwise?”

“ _Harsh_ ,” Jesse mumbles, and Genji just laughs. “But what can he say, he’s had a lotta time to think.”

Genji hums. “About?”

“Things,” Jesse answers simply, and knows it’s not the sort of something he wants to say across continents but would rather face-to-face, hoping Genji might still decipher the meaning on the other end regardless. He knows him well enough to. “What ‘bout you?” McCree asks. “Doesn’t sound like you’ve done much of anythin’ either.”

Genji pauses. “I have had plenty of time to think.” He says, in that clean tone of voice that means he’s trying to be unreadable --which, for a guy who doesn’t show his face, is surprisingly easy. “About _things_.” He adds, teasingly.

 Jesse scratches his chin. “Maybe you and that loser should have a chat some time.” He adds, “When you’re done. Seems like y’all’ve got a lot to talk about.”

Genji hums. “Perhaps.” He agrees, and Jesse watches the sky break into fragments of gold and blue, the dawn of a new day and all its possibilities yet to come.

“Genji?” McCree asks, softly, and there’s a noise of confirmation on the other end. “Please hurry the fuck up. I kinda miss your stupid ass.”

Genji makes a noncommittal sound. “I have been told it is rather pleasing to the eye--” Jesse _groans_. Genji laughs. “But I do believe we have gathered all that is needed; we should return shortly.”

Jesse sighs, half in anticipation, half in relief. “Good,” he mumbles. “’M glad.” There's a pass of silence, and Jesse closes his eyes into the wind that curls around his collar.

“Jesse?” McCree leans into the earpiece, Genji’s voice is soft but concerned, riddled with other things Jesse can't quite place. “Please stay safe.”

“Yeah,” Jesse nods. “Yeah, you too.”

The line cuts off with a soft click, and Jesse’s left in silence to watch the sun finish rising by himself. It’s not necessarily a lonely feeling, though, because Jesse knows that halfway across the world, Genji is watching the exact same sun set, passing from one heart to another.

 

 

 

 

 

**twenty-six.**

 

This can’t be happening.

“ _What_ \--”

“It’s only two weeks, maybe three.” Gabe shuffles papers and then looks at Jesse quizzically. “I thought you wanted a mission?”

“Well uh. Yeah. _Before_ \--”

“Before what?” Gabe asks, and Jesse instantaneously decides that this is _not_ the time he wants to get the birds and bees talk.

“Uh. Nothin’.” He adjusts his hat, clearing his throat. “But the uh. The Anti-Omnic org, huh?”

Gabe nods. “We think they’ve taken a hit out on one of the Bexcorp’s top CO’s. Need you to watch over her for a few days until we’ve nullified the threat. Think you can handle it?”

Jesse scratches the back of his head, wincing. Handle it? Sure. Want to do it? Not so much…

“‘Course, boss.” He stands and readjusts his hat. “Just say ‘when’.”

 

 

 

 

 

**forty.**

 

The text is short, simple, sent hastily in the early morning and buzzing beneath Jesse’s head, waking him up. He’s supposed to be un-contactable throughout the job, but, well, Angela never has been one for following rules. (He didn't even know this communicator could even  _receive_ texts--) 

 _Get back soon,_ it reads. _I am sick of thinking about things_.

Jesse grins. He’s never agreed with anything more in his _life_.

 

 

 

 

 

 **fifty**.

 

Jesse is so _totally_ suing. Three fucking weeks his _ass_ , the whole thing had been three weeks and _three fucking days_ , which is over the deadline, and the whole thing had been a living hell. Annabelle Durand was about as interesting to watch as paint-drying --all she ever did was go between her apartment and her office-- and Jesse had been about to give up altogether and find the source of the hit _himself_ before Gabe had called and said he could finally come _home_.

Three fucking weeks. And three fucking days. _Suing_.

“Welcome home kid,” Gabe crushes Jesse against his chest the moment he sees him, breath heaving in what almost seems like _relief_. “Glad to see you’re in one piece. And that you didn’t get shot.”

Jesse pushes Gabe away and groans; Reyes laughs. There’d only been like, three hit-men across the weeks, so all-in-all, thoroughly uneventful. Gabe seems less worried though, eyes crinkled in laughter, and Jesse thinks the suing can wait. Maybe.

Besides, he’s got more important things to do.

“You’re alive,” Fareeha sighs, as if disappointed, arms folded from where she leans against the wall outside Gabe’s office. Jesse ruffles her hair.

“Glad to see ya’ too,” He grins. “Have fun paintin’ walls?”

“ _Ugh_. You’re the worst.” But she still steps forward and hugs him regardless, nearly reaching his height. (Shit, they really do grow up _fast--_ ) “I’m glad you’re… safe.” She manages, like the words physically pain her.

McCree smiles over the top of her head. “Missed you too, kiddo,” She lets him ruffle her hair one last time, before ultimately batting his hands away and stepping out of reach. “Maybe we can have dinner later, or somethin’, help catch me up on all the recent gossip--”

“I think you’ll be too preoccupied for that.” Fareeha cuts in, shrugging, but her mouth is curved, and there’s a glint in her eyes that must _run_ in Amari genetics. “Wouldn’t want to third-wheel.”

“Third-wheel?” Jesse parrots, but Fareeha’s already walking away, smug.

“Genji’s on the roof, if you’re wondering.” Fareeha’s outright _smirking_ now, and Jesse hates that she’s actually fucking _won_. “Heard he’s been waiting for something.”

Jesse sighs as Fareeha’s smugness emanates off the linoleum floors. He _really_ needs to work on his poker face.

 

 

 

 

 

**zero.**

 

Genji’s sitting at the edge of the roof when Jesse gathers the courage to open the doors, the wind blowing gently with the scent of autumn wrapped around it. He looks beautiful, like that, Jesse thinks, all silver-and-black-and-green against gold and red as the sun sets across the horizon, waves rolling beneath the Gibraltar cliff face under his feet.

“Howdy,” Jesse tips his hat, and Genji doesn’t even so much as flinch as McCree sidles up beside him, legs dangling. “What’s a pretty man like you doin’ in a place like this?”

Genji’s head doesn’t move, but Jesse knows he’s watching from the corner of his eye. “Thinking.” He replies, slyly, and the metal-plating along his arms click as he shifts forward. “Wondering if it is the right choice.”

Jesse hums. “There’s only one way to find out, y’know.” He stares into the horizon. “I think it’s worth the risk.”

Genji stiffens at that, head turning suddenly, and then his posture relaxes as he forces the tension to leave his body, sighing. “You cannot know that for sure. I am-- I am-- I am not even _human_ \--”

“Hey now,” Jesse looks at him, seriously, expression stern. “It ain’t up to me as to whether you think that or not but if you think that makes you any less worthy of bein’ loved--”

Genji laughs, hand curving around the metal plate of his visor, and the sound is so much more beautiful in real life. “You truly are an idiot, Jesse McCree.”

“An idiot in love~” he teases, and Genji rolls his eyes so hard that Jesse can’t help but laugh. (He doesn’t _really_ roll them, since Jesse can’t _see_ them, but his whole body sort of flows with the motion, like every single muscle is just _that_ exasperated.)

“Perhaps I am more the fool, for returning such feelings.” Genji sighs, but Jesse’s grin turns wild, manic, _hopeful_. Genji raises his hands suddenly, pushing a pressure plate at the back of his head, and steam hisses while gears click, the face-plate falling into his hands with the clean swipe of metal against metal.

“So,” he says, eyes focused determinedly on the setting sun, turned gold in the fading light. His skin is pink and marred, metal plating along the side of his cheek where the skin must have torn, the faintest trace of circuits running along the side of his forehead and curving around his hairline, where green wisps of hair tustle gently in the breeze. He's the most beautiful thing Jesse’s ever fucking _seen_. “Do you still truly think that you are prepared to--”

Jesse kisses him.

It’s kind of hasty in the scheme of things, and he totally misses any of that romantic angling that he should’ve been aiming for, but it shuts up Genji well enough --and gets the message across, too. Granted, it’s _hard_ to aim when sitting side by side, but Genji shifts, re-positioning their heads, and suddenly it's a whole lot _easier_.

Jesse had even _shaved_ in preparation for this, and it was _definitely_ worth it. Genji’s hands aren’t cold but they aren’t warm, either, and they slip into Jesse’s hair and _tug_ , pulling him closer and pushing him away all in the same gasp against McCree’s lips. It’s a lot of things in the space of a few breaths, a promise, a risk, a chance at something _better_ , and it’s a whole lot less; the jagged edge of Genji’s skin sliding against Jesse’s cheek, the light of the setting sun crowning them in fading warmth, and at the heart of it, two people, skin-to-skin, heart-to-heart, two pasts, two futures, and a whole lot of brand new possibilities.

Jesse pulls back, gasping for air, and has to hold on to his hat before the wind can blow it away, just as Genji surges back in for a round two, metallic hands cupping Jesse’s cheeks until his own hands eventually fall, allowing the hat to fly into the ocean below.

Jesse curses, Genji laughs against his mouth, and McCree can't help but smile in return, tasting the sweetness of the sound against his tongue. Their kisses are a lot of things, their newfound relationship a whole lot more, and there are still waters to be tested, clauses to be marked, things to be thought about, but above all, with Genji’s smile against his lips and his hands cupping McCree’s face, sighing into the kiss, Jesse can’t help but think one, simple thing:

Totally worth the wait.

* * *

 

**Author's Note:**

> the joke is that seven weeks isnt even that long they're just that gay


End file.
